Chapter 12 Latherblather Hailey

Chapter 12

Latherblather

Hailey

The next morning, I work for a few hours in peace. With my office door closed, nobody bothers me. And I absolutely force myself not to think about the prior night’s disasters. But my solitude goes to hell at noon when Jenny arrives for a twelve-to-nine shift.

At 12:01, Jenny pounces.

“Where did you disappear to last night?” she demands from my doorway.

“I…” That’s as far as the sentence gets. The truth is that I’m still trying to figure out what happened to me last night. Encounters with Matt always leave me a little befuddled.

For example, did I really grind on his lap while our mouths were fused together? And then, did my lifelong crush slip his hand inside my panties and nearly make me come while I moaned like a porn star? One thing I know for sure—midgroan, we were interrupted.

With a different kind of groan, I put my head in my hands.

“Oh, honey!” Jenny yelps. She shuts the door and flings herself into the visitor’s chair. “Tell Auntie Jenny what happened!”

“It was wonderful and terrible,” I whine. “Like all my encounters with Matt.”

She makes a sympathetic noise.

“That shopping order he put in was because he wanted to make me dinner,” I start, and Jenny squeals with delight. “That part of the night was really fun. I was able to calm down and turn off the…what did you call it?”

“The latherblather,” my friend says with authority.

“Wait,” I say, just noticing the take-out cup in her hand. “You went to the coffee shop without me?”

“Sorry,” she says. “If you tell me what happened, I’ll run out and grab you one.”

“You want me to humiliate myself without coffee?” I grumble. “That’s cold.”

She removes the top of her cup and hands it to me for a sip. “Now spill. The story. Not the coffee.”

Right. I take a single gulp and hand it back. “After dinner, we sat on the couch.”

Her eyes light up with glee.

“He could tell that I was terrified. So he made a bunch of jokes to calm me down. Then he dared me to kiss him.”

She leans forward, bracing herself on the edge of my desk. “And then?”

“And then I kind of lost my mind. I attacked him like Rufus attacks a doggy bone.”

“Whoa!” Jenny’s eyes are saucers. “Did you get a bone ? Right there on the couch? In front of those floor-to-ceiling windows? Was it awesome ?”

Embarrassment heats my neck as I realize that there are giant windows in Matt’s apartment. And I don’t think the blinds were drawn. Not only did I give him a lap dance, but I performed for all of Yorkville too.

“Omigod, you did!” she shrieks. “You’re my hero!”

I shake my head quickly. “No! I didn’t. It’s a long story. But he makes me crazy , Jenny.”

“That’s the best!”

“No!” I argue. “It isn’t. Not at all. You said so yourself—I used to be a confident person. And I need to start dating again. But Matt is not the guy for someone who needs to go back to Dating 101. He doesn’t make me confident. He makes me nuts. When he’s in the room, I’ll say anything. I’ll do anything.” I’ll unbutton any piece of clothing. Yikes. “I need to date someone who doesn’t give me the…”

“Sluttyflutters?” Jenny suggests.

“Exactly!”

“On the other hand…” she starts.

But she’s interrupted by Jackson, who’s standing in the doorway to my office. “The slutty…what?”

My face heats another ten degrees. “Is it time for our meeting?” I ask my ex, hoping to throw him off the scent of a story.

“Our meeting? There’s nothing on the schedule.”

Of course there isn’t. But I’m desperate here. “Right. Then what did you need?”

“Uh.” He gives Jenny the side-eye. “Can we talk?”

My stomach twitches nervously. Those words never begin a happy conversation. “Sure,” I say, giving Jenny a pointed look.

With a disappointed sigh, she takes her coffee cup and heads out the door.

I’ve extracted myself from one difficult conversation only to find myself in another. “About the other day,” Jackson says when she’s gone.

“I didn’t see a thing,” I stammer, thinking of the sex toys on my desk.

He frowns. “I know you haven’t seen it. That’s why I want to show it to you.”

“You…what?” I rack my brain for a reason he’d want to show me sex toys. I’m obviously missing something. “Wait. What is it I’m supposed to see?”

“A property on Bayview.” He frowns at my obvious confusion. “For the expansion.”

“I thought you weren’t ready to expand!” I sound hurt even to my own ears. But he’s not making a lot of sense right now. “You said it was too soon.”

He leans his head back against my doorframe and closes his eyes. “I don’t know, I guess. My dad thinks this lease is too good to pass up. It’s right near all those Bridle Path mansions.”

“And you want me to see this property?” I’d rather take the carefully sharpened pencils out of my pencil cup, hunt down Mr. Emery, and stab him with them.

“I guess so.” He opens his eyes. “What do you think of the idea?”

I hate it. “Any property on Bayview has got to cost a mint. It must be twice what we pay for this place.” I throw out an arm to indicate our Yorkville spread, which is only affordable because it’s on the second story of a small building and Mr. Emery is our landlord. “How much is it?” When he quotes a number, I groan. “And you think this is a good idea?”

“I think…” He pauses to chew his rather thin lip. I never saw it as thin until right this second. But just last night, I was up close and personal with a set of bossy, bruising—

Focus, Hailey!

“…we could do well in that neighborhood,” he says slowly. “Just take a look? See it before you decide.”

“All right,” I agree, managing to keep my tone civil. “But we can’t make this decision just based on a lease opportunity. If you’re serious about expanding, I’m going to calculate the ROI based on the density of that neighborhood and the average cost of residential real estate per square foot. Then I have to compare the results to other cash-rich neighborhoods. Like Rosedale.”

That will only take me about fifty hours.

Jackson nods. “Fine. But look at the place, okay? I need to get back to my father.”

Of course he does. And I’ll probably become the first woman convicted of murder by office supplies.

When Jackson leaves, I pull up some data about the Bridle Path. I should really be working on our mobile app update, and the interruption makes me growl at my computer.

“Wowzers,” Jenny says from behind me. “That’s the sound of sexual frustration.”

“Stop,” I bark.

“Fine. Is this a bad time to mention that there’s a new request from…”

My heart leaps.

“…Mr. Dick?”

It crashes to the ground again. “What does he want?” I spot the red notification in the corner of my screen and click it. “A swing ?” I giggle, feeling the tension leaving my shoulders for the first time in hours. I wonder if the Bridle Path has a colorful clientele too.

“The specs make me think I can find him something at Home Depot. Or a sex shop. But look at the picture. Please?”

I shift my computer browser to pull up the request on the big screen. And then I’m disappointed, because MrEightInches is not himself today. There’s no penis in the picture. Only a beamed ceiling, with hooks embedded in one of the beams. “So he’ll have a place to hang the thing,” I say. “That makes your job easier, I guess?”

“Hailey! Look at the wall.”

There is a bit of wall showing. When I squint, I see more hardware bolted in. There’s some kind of chain hanging there. And beside it I can just make out a row of… “Are those floggers ?”

“Seems so.”

“Are you even surprised?”

Jenny shrugs. “Why didn’t you have sex with the hockey god yet?”

The question catches me entirely off guard, so I blurt out the truth. “I would have, but we were interrupted by an emergency.”

Her eyes widen, probably because she didn’t expect her sneak attack to work. “What kind of emergency?”

“The intimidating kind,” I admit. “His ex-wife showed up looking like a supermodel, with her twin girls in tow. She cut her thumb and declared a national emergency.”

Jenny makes a face. “I hate her for interrupting your first night of sex in a million years.”

“Two years,” I correct.

Her eyes bug out. “Two? But your separation was only eighteen months ago!”

Well, this is embarrassing. “Next topic, please.”

“Oh dear .” She looks truly stunned. “No wonder you turn into a gibberflibber every time he turns up.”

“But most men don’t make me do that,” I point out. “Just him. He’s obviously the wrong choice to break my dry spell.”

“No.” Jenny reaches across the desk and smacks my hand. “That means he’s exactly the right guy. Did Jackson ever turn you into a bumbleberry?”

“No. Just Matt. I humiliate myself nearly every time we’re in the same room. And he has two kids , Jen. Seriously. There’s a whole bunch of people in line for his attention.”

Jenny’s wince is just proof that I’m right. “The kids are tricky,” she admits.

“The whole situation is tricky. This is like…deciding I’m interested in doing a little rock climbing and then flying to Everest for my first excursion.”

“The scenery though!” She fans herself. “Let’s talk about how you’re really just a big chicken.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Am not!”

“Hi, ladies,” a male voice says from the doorway.

Once again, my heart leaps and then dives. It’s not Matt.

“Hi, Tad!” I greet him with great enthusiasm, because he’s interrupted the dumbest argument Jenny and I have ever had. When I bounce out of my desk chair, he looks a little startled. “Weren’t we going to have coffee sometime?”

His eyes widen. “I believe that was the plan.”

“Is now good? Jenny went for an espresso without me.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Now would be very good.” His smile leaves no room for doubt that Jenny was right. He was trying to ask me out, and I missed it.

“I’ll just get my coat.”

***

We go to the coffee shop on Yorkville Avenue. But instead of getting takeout, we have a seat at one of the little tables in back.

Talking to Tad is easy. I don’t feel any shimmies or flutters in inappropriate places. It’s soothing. We end up discussing television. Turns out we’re both excited for the new Sherlock Holmes remake.

“Although it could be terrible,” I point out.

“True,” he says, his brown eyes smiling at me. Tad is empirically attractive. He has a good haircut and a friendly smile. He’s a little lean for my recent tastes, but he carries himself well and wears clothes that suit him. With his turtleneck sweater and his hipster glasses, he looks more like a Club Monaco model than a techie nerd.

Also in Tad’s favor? I haven’t stuttered once since we sat down to talk. I’m perfectly calm the whole time. He doesn’t make me stutter or feel sweaty. He’s just…Tad. I lean forward a little, wondering if the zap of attraction I’m hoping to feel is somehow held back by the width of the oak table between us.

But…nothing.

Interesting.

“At least there’s always hockey. I know how much you love hockey.”

I offer a wry smile. “Speaking of hockey, where’s your Toronto hat today?”

The tips of his ears go pink. “Flew off when I was running to the subway station the other week. It was either save the hat and miss the train, or lose the hat and make it home on time.”

“I would’ve chosen the hat.”

“Of course. The three pennants and the Toronto pencil cup in your office could’ve told me that.”

He smiles, and it’s a nice smile, but once again, I don’t feel a single spark. “I bet if it was your, say, Boston cap, you wouldn’t have picked the train,” I tease.

His blush deepens. “Damn. Who gave me away?”

“Jenny. But don’t worry,” I add graciously. “It’s all right with me if you want to root for Boston over us. Foolish, but all right.”

Tad chuckles, then tells me about the time he had tickets for a Toronto home game against Boston but then got stuck in an elevator in Midtown. It’s a pretty good story, and I’m a good listener. But as he’s telling me how he used his cell phone to call the building security, I suddenly feel it! A flush spreads across my chest, and everything starts to tingle. I feel myself smile a little wider. I sense something important happening…

“ Hottie .”

I jump three inches in my seat, and my forearm knocks over the dregs of my coffee. I flail for the napkin, but it goes sailing off the table.

Two seconds later, Matt Eriksson has retrieved my napkin and dropped it tidily onto the modest puddle of spilled coffee. Leaping to my feet, I take him in. In sweatpants and a Toronto jacket, he must have just come from the morning skate. He’s the most casually dressed man in the shop and the hottest by a factor of a thousand.

I’m just goggling at him, still stunned by his sudden arrival. And Tad is faring even worse. His mouth has flopped open, and his eyes are the size of the donuts behind the counter. “You’re…” he stammers.

At least I’m not the only one who loses it a little when Matt shows up. Tad might not be a Toronto fan, but he’s still a hockey enthusiast, and all diehard fans go a bit bug-eyed in the presence of a professional athlete.

“Hailey,” Matt says with a jaw that’s tighter than normal. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“This is Tad the Techie,” I blabber. “Tad, this is Matt Eriksson.”

Tad pulls himself together. He stands and thrusts a hand into Matt’s, pumping it. “It’s a pleasure, sir.” Hesitating, he glances between us. “So, uh, you two know each other?”

“You might say that.” Matt retrieves his hand from Tad’s. Then he uses it to cup the back of my head. He places a firm, possessive kiss on my cheekbone. “We need to have a little chat, you and me. If you have a moment.”

“Oh, we’re done here!” Tad volunteers with a nervous chuckle. He grabs our cups off the table. “See you back at the office, Hailey!” He’s gone so fast I think I see a contrail all the way out the door.

“What was that?” I demand, finally shaking off my surprise. “You chased off my coffee date.”

“Date?” Matt asks, his strong jaw lifting in a way that’s so sexy I can practically feel the testosterone rolling off him in waves.

“Well, not a date date,” I correct. “He’s upgrading our servers with a new installation.”

“An installation , I bet.” Matt snorts and takes my hand in his. “Don’t go back to the office yet. Unless you have to?”

I simply shake my head because the…flutternutters or whatever Jenny would call them have set in again, and I don’t think I can string words together.

“Good,” he says, his voice rough. He scoops my coat off the chair and tugs me toward the door.

Outside, we’re greeted with a blast of early December cold air.

Matt stops and pulls the coat around my shoulders. “Come with me.”

“Where?” I croak.

He jerks his head down the block, where his apartment building rises up over the busy street. “We have some unfinished business.”

“We do?”

He moves fast, backing me against the bricks of the coffee shop’s exterior, his chest against mine, his lips brushing my forehead as he speaks. “We have some very pressing business to attend to.” His hands steal inside my unzipped coat to land on my waist. “Don’t you agree?”

A hot gasp escapes my chest as his mouth travels down to my ear, giving it a nibble. I’m clutching his jacket now, ready to do whatever he asks. And right here, probably.

But in a flash, Matt steps back, grabs my hand, and marches me toward his building.

“Good day!” the doorman says as he admits us.

“It sure is,” Matt says cheerily as he guides me toward the elevator bank and leans on the button. “And it’s about to get even better,” he whispers when the doors part.

When the doors close behind us, he backs me up against the wall of the car. I have time to take one deep breath of his freshly showered scent before he attacks my lips with a hungry kiss.

My head thunks against the wood paneling as he deepens the kiss. This Matt isn’t taking it slow. This is the same Matt Eriksson who grabs the puck on a power play and makes a press for the net.

My inner goalie tosses her stick away and forgets to worry. I wrap my arms around his generous frame and hold on for dear life as his kisses travel to the sensitive skin of my neck, where his hungry mouth causes goose bumps to rise all over my body. The sweep of his lips toward my ear makes my knees buckle.

“I didn’t like that we were interrupted last night,” he whispers hoarsely between open-mouthed kisses to my rapidly heating skin. “Went to your office to apologize.”

So how’d you find me? I think to ask. But the words don’t make it out of my brain, and I just moan instead. His hands have gripped my hips, and I can feel myself getting less coherent by the second. My palms wander between the unzipped halves of his jacket and down the ridges of his abs. He hisses, then leans in—

The elevator dings, announcing our arrival on his floor.

He groans and tugs me off the wall. “Let’s go, Hottie. Time’s a-wasting.” He steers me toward his apartment door and punches in the code at warp speed.

Inside, he lifts the coat from my shoulders and drops it on the floor. Then he does the same with his own.

“You need a coatrack,” I point out.

“Later,” he grunts.

I have one last rational thought: There are coatracks at Yorkdale Shopping Centre . But that’s it for thinking, because Matt kisses me again, and we’re on the move down a hallway. One possessive hand lands on my ass, giving it a squeeze that steals another ten IQ points.

Then the backs of my legs find a bed, and I…freeze. I just stop, midkiss, and ice runs through my veins where there was only heat a second before. Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. My lifelong crush wants to have spectacular sex with me, and I don’t have a clue what that means.

“Hottie,” he whispers, and his hands turn gentle. His fingertips skim lightly up my back and then down again. “What’s wrong?”

“You make me so nervous.”

He smiles, and it’s sweet. His knuckles sweep across my cheek, and then he kisses that spot too. “I know. There aren’t any drills for this.”

“What?”

His chuckle curls through my body like a flame. I didn’t know it was possible to be so turned on and so scared at the same time. “You’re out of practice, right?”

“Right.” It’s just that I’m starting to think I never had any game to begin with. He makes my body light up in ways so foreign to me that it’s clear I’ve been doing something wrong my whole life.

“So let me coach this round. I’ll call the plays. You just listen for the whistle.”

“Okay,” I say immediately.

“Your coach wants you to unbutton that shirt.” His smile is a little teasing but also kind.

My fingers find their way to the buttons on my blouse and begin to obey.

“Good girl,” he whispers, sliding it off my shoulders and tossing it onto a chair I picked out at Crate & Barrel. He leans in to place a soft kiss at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. He moves downward, past my collarbone, tracing the line of my white lace bra with his lips.

The goose bumps are back. And the heat. My fingers find their way into his hair and tug his head closer to my breast.

His lips nuzzle me, and he lets out a groan. “Coach needs you to remove this bra,” he says huskily.

I hesitate, because I’ve always felt pretty underendowed. And it’s awfully bright in here…

“Coach is waiting, Hailey,” he says, kneeling in front of me. “Be a good recruit and lose the bra while I take care of this.”

Thick fingers find the zipper of my wool trousers and drag it slowly down. The sound of the zipper’s teeth makes me gasp. With fumbling hands, I find the clasp of my bra and unhook it.

Matt isn’t watching as I ditch the bra onto the floor. He ducks down, his lips finding the skin just north of my bikini panties. He kisses me there, and I feel a rush of desire everywhere .

Then his eyes lift, and he groans. “Fuck, Hailey. It’s gonna be an effort to go slow.” He reaches over his head and grasps his T-shirt by the back collar. “But warm-ups are important.” He hauls the shirt over his head and tosses it aside.

And oh, the view! My mouth begins to water at my first sight of all that male perfection. He yanks my pants down and then stands up, where I blink at him, my eyes traveling all over his chest.

“That’s right,” he says. “Now touch me. Both hands.”

My greedy fingers leap to do his bidding. I skim my palms over his pecs, and his breath catches. I let my fingertips explore the ridges of his washboard abs. The dusting of brown chest hair thickens as it approaches the waistline of his sweats, and when I run my fingers over it, his stomach tightens.

“Mmm,” he growls. And when he lifts his hands to cup my breasts, I let out a whimper that makes him smile. “I know, honey.” He strokes his thumb over my nipple, and I clench my thighs together. “Good girl. So responsive to your coach. Now I want you naked and on that bed.” He clicks his tongue. “Let’s go.”

I scramble to obey, and a moment later, I’m lying in the center of his comforter, wearing nothing but my own desire for the god who’s prowling toward me on hands and knees. He’s down to a pair of black cotton boxer briefs and a smile. I should be cold, but I’m burning up as he looks down at me, his eyes sweeping over my body before he drops his head to take one of my nipples into his mouth. His tongue circles, and I moan, long and loud.

He lowers that perfect body down onto mine, his mouth claiming my own. The heavy weight of him is delicious. “Fuck,” he groans between kisses. “Your coach is anxious to get this game underway.”

I giggle into his mouth. He’s hot and hard, and everything is wow . I work a hand down his chest again, finally reaching for the ambitious erection that’s straining the cotton to its maximum capacity.

We both sigh happily.

“Good girl.” He sits up a little. “Take it out.”

“Yes, sir.” I push the briefs down, and the most gorgeous cock I’ve ever seen (in my vast experience) springs into view. When I wrap my hand around all that perfection, he lets out a hiss.

I lick my lips as a drop of liquid appears on his tip.

“Taste me,” he barks, sitting back on his heels.

I move to my knees and dip my head, my forehead skimming his abs, and the clean, salty scent of him envelops me. I lick the pearly drop from his tip, and he growls. Suddenly, a big hand grasps my hair tightly. I’m not expecting it, and a shiver runs through me as my subconscious registers my helplessness in this situation.

For a split second, nervousness shows its face again. It’s the middle of the workday, and I’m naked with my client. Who I badly want to please.

Another hand lands on my upper back, caressing me sweetly. “Such a good girl,” he whispers. “The coach is proud of you.”

And just like that, I melt onto him, his cock sliding into my mouth.

“Suck me, honey,” he rasps. “Take it all.”

I moan as he fills my mouth, the heavy weight of him on my tongue. It’s a lot to handle, so I have to back off right away. The hand in my hair relaxes immediately. I take a deep breath through my nose and try again. His moan is so sweet that I want to hear it again. Relaxing my throat, I figure out how to take him deep. Before long, we have a rhythm, his powerful body rocking forward, fucking my mouth in short strokes.

The hand tightens on my hair, and I’m drowning in my own desire. Suck me, honey. The words vibrate through my core. Take it all. Nobody has ever said anything so wonderfully dirty to me before. I give a good hard suck, and his rhythm stutters.

“Ungh,” he pants, cupping my chin and stopping me. “On your back now.”

Dazed, I release him with a pop and blink up at him.

“Glad you were into that, baby. But I have other drills for you. Okay?”

I nod.

“Say, ‘Yes, Coach.’” He winks.

“Yes, Coach,” I whisper, and he smiles.

Then he reaches behind me and grabs my ass, which he then slaps. “Lie down.”